


Happy Hour

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Affection, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Dirty Talk, Casual Sex, Dirty Talk, Drinking, F/M, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Fucking, Humor, Kissing, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Humor, Teasing, Undercover, happy hour, smutscuses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:32:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skoulson RomFest 2k16 REDUX - DAY 2 · 19 July<br/>undercover</p><p>Daisy is undercover and invites Coulson to Happy Hour in DC.  Smutscuses with meaningful casual sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Hour

“Want to explain to me what we’re doing here?”

He’s talking to her, not looking at her, leaned over the old wooden bar, patting it methodically with his prosthetic hand.

It’s crowded already, Happy Hour in Washington, D.C.  And they’re surrounded by a sea of political animals of all shapes and sizes.

Some of them would love to put her in a cage, in fact. They’ll be voting on doing that, soon.

“Because I invited you to Happy Hour,” she says, coming to stand next to him and sliding her cocktail along the bar. “And you showed up?”

“Great, are you buying?” he asks, peering up at her as the waiter brings his neat scotch and deposits it in front of him.

She raises an eyebrow at his cheek, and sets her clutch onto the top of the bar.

“Sure,” she says, turning and leaning her back against it, so she can get a good view of the room. “But I’m friends with the bartender.”

He looks up and makes eye contact with the bartender, who stares back as he washes several glasses.

Coulson just gives a wry smile and takes a sip of his drink, raising his glass.

Ruben is about a foot taller than Phil, but what Phil doesn’t know is that Ruben can eat anything.  Literally.

Maybe not smirks, though.

“I’ll be sure to tip,” he jokes, as Ruben rolls his eyes and turns his back to them.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” she answers, reaching back for her drink, as a row of guys who look like interns shuffle up beside her.

“This really isn’t my scene,” he says, as they start getting shoved around by the new influx of people.

“I thought you liked getting drinks after work.”

He tilts his head at her, like he can’t believe she’d bring that up. As if that’s why they would be meeting.

But, she’s undercover, even if he isn’t, and she can be anyone she wants to be tonight.

“I have something for you,” she says, leaning forward to talk in his ear over the din in the room, which just got about a thousand times louder.

“So give it to me,” he says with a shrug, seeming droll as he puts his glass back down.

“You’re really determined to make this the most boring hand off, ever.”

“How can I make this more interesting for you?” he asks sarcastically, raising his hands as someone bumps him from behind.  “Please, let me know-“

There’s another shove, and it pushes him up against her. She almost spills her drink, and sees his mouth pressed together in a thin line as he practically body checks her against the bar.

It’s okay, she’s got this.

“This is more interesting,” she chuckles, with her arm around him to steady them, noting him looking her over, like he’s trying to work out what to say.

He seems particularly troubled by the fact that he just looked at her cleavage.

“Say something,” she laughs, trying to egg him on a bit.

He turns his face away to look around the space, probably to claw his way to freedom if possible, then he meets her eyes again.

“That’s a nice sweater.”  He doesn’t sound like he’s very happy to confess it. But, he looks again.

She does, too.  It’s fuzzy and teal and low cut.  Why _did_ she wear this sweater?

“Wow. So charming,” she deadpans, brushing it off.

“You asked,” he huffs.  “It looks…soft.”

It _is_ soft, and it’s also getting hot in here with the place maxed out, but that’s what she wanted, for them to hide in the crowd, because she can hop the bar and make her way out through the kitchen at any time, with Ruben as her back up.

“You hungry?” he asks her, as she turns back towards him from checking the escape route behind her.

“The food here is only so-so,” she tells him, remembering his particular tastes.

“No, I mean, somewhere else.”

Probably definitely not sounding like he’s almost asking her out.

“Is this you making it more interesting?” she tells him, taking another sip of her whiskey then sliding her tongue over her lips.

“I don’t know,” he says, and he drops the gruffness, he sounds honest, and a little lost.

This is only the third time they’ve met like this. She’s just trying to have a little fun.

 _That’s_ why she wore the sweater.

He does worry about her, though.  Maybe it’s that he’s worried about them being in the open like this? That she’ll finally get caught, and it’ll be because of him.

She glances down at his tie, the fact that he’s wearing a suit to meet her.  Hasn’t done that in a long time.

“It’s hot in here, right?” he asks her.

“Yeah,” she says, loudly, sliding her hand down to his elbow and trying to nudge them over to move towards the gap in the bar counter.

He reaches behind her to grab her purse, and tucks it under his arm, as the space narrows and they press more tightly together to squeeze in between people.

And the contact, the friction between them…She’s pretty sure that’s Phil Coulson’s boner against her hip.  It is _not_ small.

This is not about getting caught, really. Just the _possibility_ of it, the danger of doing it with him, right now, is kind of turning her on.

“I’m sorry I’m such a bad influence,” she laughs, leaning in closer to him so he can hear, letting her lips brush against his ear.

When she pulls back, there’s a blush creeping across his face, his eyes looking even brighter.

Oh, Phil. It’s adorable.

“That’s what they say,” he admits, leaning an arm against the bar to shield them from the rest of the room. That’s when she feels his fingers make contact with her thigh.

Right where the edge of the skirt meets skin.

“I just don’t want you to get caught,” he goes on, giving her a very direct stare.

She swallows as his hand moves higher, slipping underneath the flounce of the hem. Her eyes flutter for a moment at the thought that he might actually go there, in public, then he pulls away, and moves them both in the direction they were headed.

They finally get to the gap in the bar, and she sighs, then feels his hands on the backs of her arms.

“And not here.”

And by not here, he meant, not in the bar.  He’s okay with the storage room.

They lock themselves in and move towards the back of the narrow room.  She leads him by his tie, until she’s against a stack of boxes.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, framing her with his arms.

“Are _you_ sure about this?” she says.  They haven’t even kissed yet.

She decides to fix that and pulls the knot of his tie loose, and undoes a few buttons, then traces along his jaw with her fingers, until his lips are parted and he closes the little bit of space left between them.

Yes, he’s sure.  It only takes him a few seconds to get comfortable enough to give her tongue, and, holy shit, he’s a good kisser.

There’s a beeping noise and he grimaces, while still kissing her, his hand palming her breast, then finally he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Dammit,” he says, looking at the display. “They want me at the base.”

“Like, how fast?”

“Thirty minutes,” he says, and hugs her against him, like he’s already apologizing for the way this is going.

“So, make it quick,” she shrugs, pushing him back.

“Seriously?” He looks so offended. “That’s not how I want to do things.”

“Is this,” she motions around the room, “The way you like to do things?”

“Not until tonight,” he mutters, putting a hand on one hip, and then looking down at his phone, shoving it in his pocket.

She turns around, and leans over the boxes, slides the skirt up her ass until he can see her underwear.

He just groans, and looks upset.

“Tell me about all the things you’re going to do to me next time, okay?”

“Next time?”

Bending, she slides her underwear down her legs then holds them in front of him, before wadding them up and putting them in his jacket pocket.

She grabs him by the neck and gives him a quick and dirty kiss, before turning around again.

“Yes.  Next time.”

Because in their line of work, there might not be a next time, and they’ve had enough disruptions in their lives for the universe to spare them 15 minutes.

He undoes his belt and then she feels him lean over her, feels his suit against her arms and legs, his mouth on her neck, then shoulder, sliding down one of the sleeves of the sweater to kiss her there.

“That’s nice,” she says, closing her eyes.  She wishes they had more time.

“I don’t have a condom,” he stops, then he slides the tip of himself against her, soft and warm and he can tell how wet she is.

“It’s okay,” she says back, as he puts a hand against her hip and slowly pushes inside of her.

“I could probably only last fifteen minutes,” he says, chuckling, embarrassed, once he’s flush against her body, and snakes a hand up underneath the sweater to touch her breast through her bra, making a happy humming noise.

She laughs, at how good it feels, how amazing it feels for him to be doing this with her.  Ugh, she hopes the President finds out.  _And_ Talbot.

“I’m such a good influence on you,” she teases him, craning her neck back as he starts to rock against her.

“You are,” he says, breath against her mouth, rolling his hips to change the angle as her voice changes pitch. “They’re all wrong.  They’ve always been wrong.”

“This feels so good, Phil,” she says, falling forward, bracing herself on the boxes with her arms. “I needed this.”

He starts moving harder against her, he knows her so well.  He listens to everything, every tiny noise escaping her, every move she makes.

She believes it.

“Next time,” he starts, and she can tell he’s getting close, at the way his heart is beating through his shirt onto her back, “I’m going to go down on you. I’m going to taste you, and then make you come.”

Oh.  She _really_ wants that.

“I want to be on top,” she says, tossing her head back to meet his eyes. “I want to watch your face while I ride you.”

Fuck.  He looks hot when he fucks.

“Happening,” he grunts. “That’s happening. I’m going to do things with my tongue.  Naughty things.”

He leans back over her, and slides his hands down her arms, linking their fingers together, picks up the pace.

“Can you?” he asks, almost out of breath.

“Almost…I’m almost,” she pulls a hand free and slides her fingers over her clit, feeling him moving in and out of her, hearing him say her name as he comes.

It’s what pushes her over the edge. She’s still coming while he’s inside her, as he waits for her, then leans against her carefully.

“I think,” he says, his face against her shoulder. “I’m going to be late.”

They both start laughing together, as he stands up and slides out of her, then gets his boxers and pants sorted out.

“Thanks,” she kisses him lightly on the mouth.

“What?” He shakes his head. “No.  Daisy, I’m crazy about you.”

It kind of shocks her, how easily he admitted it.  More than the sex, maybe.

“Tell me more about it,” she says, adjusting his tie.  “Next time.”

He wraps a hand around her back and pulls her in to kiss her again.

“And the stuff about going down on me. Because, I like that.”

She can feel him smile against her mouth. “What were you going to give me?  Besides a really good time?”

“Oh!” She almost forgot, she grabs her purse and opens the snap and takes the folded piece of paper out. “Lockbox.  A list of congress people, working with the Watchdogs. I’m hoping they don’t get to vote on the bill.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says, taking it from her, a serious expression over his face.  Then he draws her against him, hugs her. “Stay safe.”

“You too.  Especially now that I’ve seen your O face,” she grins.

“Stop,” he says, leaning forward to kiss her again.

“Coulson,” she says, giving him quick kisses.  “You need to go.”

“I know, I hate this. Thanks.”

He unlocks the door and then turns back to look at her, just before he exits into the alley.

“Go,” she mouths to him.

Then laughs when he blows her a kiss.


End file.
